


Cheesecake

by yeaka



Category: Golden Girls
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21540559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Blanche had a bad time.
Relationships: Blanche Devereaux & Dorothy Zbornak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Cheesecake

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Golden Girls or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Sometimes, Blanche doesn’t even know why she bothers with men anymore. They’re stubborn, unappealing, thoughtless creatures, and if she could get away with never seeing one ever again, she would. 

Or at least, she tells herself that, knowing full well that she’ll spring back in the morning and have a better date lined up within twenty-four hours. Because no man can hold Blanche Devereaux down. The next one will be twice as interesting, handsome, rich, and maybe even well endowed with an almost encyclopedic knowledge on how to use it. And he’ll still have his real hair. And teeth. And he’ll pay for the whole dinner and drive her home, so she won’t have to take a taxi just because she wouldn’t put out on the first date. 

She would’ve put out if he hadn’t belched in her face over soup. But she has to have _some_ standards. She marches up the driveway in a mixture of depression and fury, heels clicking loudly against the pavement as though to tell the whole neighbourhood her failure. Then she’s fumbling with the door and almost sobbing because she can’t get her keys out fast enough. She desperately needs to be inside with a stiff drink in her hand.

She’s through the door, and Rose and Sophia aren’t even waiting to see her, there to console her and remind her that even if men are pigs, at least the women in her life are loyal. To be fair to them, it’s almost midnight. Which is an atrocious time to be awake unless you’re in someone else’s bed. 

But Dorothy is there, because Dorothy is her old faithful. Dorothy’s head lifts off the back of the couch, body straightening out—she’d been reclining, clearly resting, maybe even nodding off to sleep. She moves the book in her lap to the coffee table and gives Blanche her full attention. One sweeping look of Blanche seems to give her her answer, but she asks anyway, “How was your date?”

If it were any earlier and she were any less upset, Blanche would lie and say she had a fabulous time, because that’s how she wants the world to perceive her. But she’s too tired and doesn’t have the energy. She doesn’t even want to rehash it. She just huffs and opens her arms. 

Dorothy makes a sympathetic sound and climbs off the couch, coming over to accept Blanche’s embrace. Blanche hugs Dorothy probably tighter than she should, but Dorothy doesn’t complain—all her sass leaks away when Blanche really needs her. Dorothy even rubs a soothing circle over her back and murmurs in her ear, “Oh, I’m sorry, honey.”

“I didn’t like him anyway,” Blanche lies. Dorothy’s kind enough not to call her on it. Blanche closes her eyes and buries herself in the hug, because that’s all she really needs. She’s fortunate enough. Men are just silly accessories to her already full, fulfilling life. 

When Dorothy finally pulls away, Blanche feels marginally better. Dorothy gives her a thin smile and squeezes her arm. Blanche searches for a witty final note, something to imply she’ll rise like a phoenix tomorrow, but nothing comes out. So she just says, “Thank you,” and goes to bed.


End file.
